


déjeuner du matin.

by miacroix



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: M/M, Metal Gear Solid: Peace Walker, Morning After, Self-Indulgent, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 12:03:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12934881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miacroix/pseuds/miacroix
Summary: A really self-indulgent one-shot inspired by a french poem by Jacques Prévert.





	déjeuner du matin.

Et il est parti  
sous la pluie  
sans une parole  
sans me regarder  
et moi j’ai pris  
ma tête dans ma main  
et j’ai pleuré  
[ dejéuner du matin • **j. prévert** ]  


  
  
  


You open your blue eyes slowly. The room is filled with the first light of the day, when the sun seems so close that you can track its movements with the eyes.   
John is there, sitting on the shitty mattress with an elbow on his knee, like an open book. He thinks you're still asleep, that's why he takes all the time he needs to pull himself together.   
Your gaze wonders on his back, on all those dark spots where his flesh had hardened. Its like a constellation of bullet holes and scars, and you know each of them.   
You kissed each of them.   
  
When he finally gets up, you close your eyes again.   
His steps are barely audible, a professional bias, but you're sure he's heading to the bathroom. He always leaves before you can wake up. At night he comes like a hungry animal and you let him eat you inside and out.   
One year before, it filled your chest with pride when his gaze became more lustful on your lips, and when he pulled lose your scarf just to leave love bites on your neck.   
Now when you make love, he's distant. His mind is lost somewhere in the black hole of his memories. You try hard to stretch a hand to pull him out, but sometimes it just drains your energy.   
So you pretend to be asleep in the morning to watch him at the beginning of the day, when he is still pure and kind in the gestures towards himself.   
In ten minutes he's out of the shower, and you also know that he always takes them cold because it helps with the bruises and all.   
You open your eyes again, lean your back on the pillows and fold your arms and just stare at him.  
He is refining his beard and combing his hair with the least effort possible, but still he does all those things with an elegance that lights your eyes up.   
He's aging with grace, and you’re starting to feel the age gap between you two.   
When he notices your stubborn gaze, it's already too late. He cracks a smile, and your heart melts like wax.   
“Good morning,” he says with husky voice. The tortoise shirt slips on his chest like silk.   
“‘Morning,” you murmur. You make sure to stare anywhere but him when he puts on his cargo pants.  
You never really saw him without the eyepatch.  
He takes a few a step forward, and you're able to blink again only when you're sure he's not reaching for you. John sits on the bed, putting his back to you, and while he ties his amphibian pants, he continues, “I want you out of this bed in ten minutes.”   
It's always about orders.   
He stands up again and before leaving, when half of his face is covered by the door jam, he just looks at you.   
John smiles, and you don’t know how to breathe. 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hope you really enjoyed it! Thank you to @redbass_baby, who corrected my shitty english. Go check her!


End file.
